BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 335 winning the fight, and they all knew it. I was literally beating the shit out of their local hero, but there wasn‟t a prayer I‟d knock him out. They knew he could knock me out if he ever got close enough, but I know you still remember that part about Mom and foolish children. One spectator was an old man, very possibly in his 80s. He had a gruff, very raspy voice, and he never stopped screaming at me. These people didn‟t just want to watch a boxer, they wanted to see a fighter. Well, there‟s a helluva difference in the two. Believe me. Back in Lansing there was a middleweight I saw as a true fighter. His name was John Stage, from Owosso. A burly farm boy, John was solid muscle, his entire body. I believe his max weight was one-sixty, but I might be a bit off on that. He had absolutely no talent as a fighter, but I think he was undefeated until he died in a car crash one night near Owosso. John would stick out his left hand, almost fully extended, so he could jab you if and when he got close enough. The right stayed back near his head, all cocked and ready. Then he‟d start following his opponent. John Stage was a stalker with a death punch. The other guy could hit him as many times as he wanted, damned near any place he wanted, and John just kept going. A savage blow to the head might move his skull an inch. Tops. His neck, maybe eighteen inches, was all solid muscle. Yet that‟s how you knock a guy out, snapping his head back to break the electrical contact in the brain and interrupt the flow of blood to the brain. The jolt doesn‟t need to be for very long, but it requires some snap. You didn‟t get that by hitting John Stage. He just kept coming, no matter what Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 336 you did to him. If he‟d possessed any real speed, I‟m sure he could‟ve gone pro, but the way he was, a world class middleweight would‟ve killed him. Still, this was amateur boxing, the Golden Gloves. John would keep plodding along until, at some point in the fight, he‟d get the other guy in one of the corners. That‟s it. Lights out. John would offload a punch he could‟ve used to knock down a wall and land it on some kid‟s poor head. Next! That fight would be all over and done with. People loved watching John because there was a lot of punching. Granted, it was all landing on John, except for that single punch he‟d throw to end the match, but they thought that was boxing. Wrong! That ain‟t boxing, folks. Yes? The foxy little blonde with those enchanting blue eyes in the second row? What can we do for you, Princess? What is that if it isn‟t boxing, you wonder? Well, it‟s one or two guys getting the living shit kicked out of them to make a crowd happy. The stupid part of it, since that‟s just fighting, is a decent boxer can avoid almost all that damage by doing it the right way. Am I willing to show you “the right way”? Well, yes, but not in boxing. Would you like to go a few rounds with me doing what‟s called “messing around”? You‟d like that, huh? Well, so would I. Meet me there by the door when we‟re finished tonight, okay? Oh, and thank you for wearing such a short skirt this evening. Oops! And thanks Leviticus, Limited 33-0505963
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BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

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